


You Are My Lucky Star

by LaKoda0518



Series: 2018 Advent Ficlet Challenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 2018 advent ficlet challenge, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, lucky stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: “Isn’t it beautiful?” Sherlock had said, lifting his gaze up to the heavens. The inky black of the night sky hung like velvet over the city of London - the stars like diamond accents. The detective walked with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his Belstaff as the pale moonlight accented his cheekbones. His messy black curls were tousled and wind blown, making him look younger than he actually was.The statement had taken John aback as he tore his gaze away from his friend and glanced up at the stars, himself. They certainly were beautiful, he couldn’t argue that; however, the thing that tugged at his curiosity the most was the fact that it was Sherlock who had called attention to them. “I thought you didn’t care about…” he began, but he was cut off by his friend’s quiet rebuttal.“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it,”. With a meaningful expression, Sherlock had turned his head to look at the doctor as they continued down the alleyway. Their eyes locked for a brief moment - a silent message passing between them. It was then that John realised exactly what the detective had been trying to tell him all along.





	You Are My Lucky Star

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sherlock had said, lifting his gaze up to the heavens. The inky black of the night sky hung like velvet over the city of London - the stars like diamond accents. The detective walked with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his Belstaff as the pale moonlight accented his cheekbones. His messy black curls were tousled and wind blown, making him look younger than he actually was.

The statement had taken John aback as he tore his gaze away from his friend and glanced up at the stars, himself. They certainly were beautiful, he couldn’t argue that; however, the thing that tugged at his curiosity the most was the fact that it was Sherlock who had called attention to them. “I thought you didn’t care about…” he began, but he was cut off by his friend’s quiet rebuttal.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it,”. With a meaningful expression, Sherlock had turned his head to look at the doctor as they continued down the alleyway. Their eyes locked for a brief moment - a silent message passing between them. It was then that John realised exactly what the detective had been trying to tell him all along.

  
  


\--

  
  


Four days had passed. Four days since he had let John in on his biggest secret. With the events of the case unfolding the way they had, - ending in an altercation with one Jim Moriarty - nothing had really changed between the doctor and himself, but the detective was sure his flatmate would want to talk about it soon enough.

It was at least one o'clock in the morning when Sherlock made his way into the sitting room after three long hours chasing sleep. He rarely slept when he had a case, so, once he had solved it, the crash that followed was inevitable. This time he had slept for nineteen hours straight and, while he usually woke feeling entirely refreshed, the downside was that it threw his entire concept of day and night out of sorts for several days after.. 

The detective approached the window, kneeling to extract his beloved violin from its case, and stood facing the window to look down on the street below. That was when he had spotted it - the small, cork-stoppered vial perched on his music stand. Sherlock leaned closer to inspect it to find that it held only one tiny object: a single, three-dimensional paper star. He quirked an eyebrow as he tilted his head from side to side analysing everything he possibly could, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He scooped the small bottle off of the stand and attempted to pull the cork from its opening, only to find that it was sealed in place.  _ Odd… _

Turning the little bottle over and over in his hands, Sherlock studied the small star inside. It was glittery gold in color and no bigger than the pad of his index finger, but there had to have been some significance to it. No one had come into the flat since he and John had arrived back at home, so he was certain that no one had been able to sneak in to plant the vial for him to find. He shrugged his shoulders after a few more moments of trying to deduce where the small bottle had originally come from and slid the vial into the pocket of his dressing gown to be analysed in depth later on. The detective straightened his stance, readied his violin into position, and began to play a soft, soothing melody as he often did at this time of night. On the nights that Sherlock played the lullaby, John slept through the night without incident, his nightmares temporarily vanquished. It was a deduction the detective held very close to his heart.

\--

Weeks passed, cases were solved, and the detective and his blogger were slowly finding their way together. A brush of fingertips leading to holding hands in the back of a cab, neither of them saying a word; the tenderness of John’s steady hand toying with Sherlock’s curls as they huddled close together on the sofa, indulging in their nightly ritual of useless television and wine. The doctor was patient with him, never expecting anything more than what Sherlock was willing to give. John was even very affectionate and understanding when the detective was in an overly stroppy mood, as if he believed he could pull him out of it if he could only make him smile… and as much as Sherlock hated to admit it, his blogger had been right. Being with John like this made life a lot less boring and a lot more bearable.

As time passed however, the detective still hadn’t been able to understand where the little bottled-up star had come from. Thinking back to the night he had discovered it, Sherlock still couldn’t think of anything to analyse that he hadn’t already. After he had been sure John was resting peacefully, he had put away his violin and retreated to his bedroom. He had placed the small jar on his bedside table, and there it had stayed, almost forgotten. Until it was joined by another. 

Sherlock had stepped into his bedroom after having a shower that morning, dressing himself in one of his usual bespoke suits. As he looked himself over in the mirror, his attention flicked to the reflection of the bedside table; a second tiny vial perched on the edge. He turned over his shoulder and strutted over to pluck the bottle up gingerly as he held it up to the light. Two stars this time: one blue, one red. The detective jiggled the container delicately, watching the stars swirl around together before falling still once again. There had been no note with either of the vials, which puzzled Sherlock immensely.  _ Puzzles without clues… perhaps, I’ve missed something… _

He set the small bottle down beside the other and turned back to his mirror. With a high profile case already demanding his attention, he would have to come back to the paper stars when London wasn’t calling his name.

More weeks and months passed, more cases came and went, more bottles appeared at various intervals: a third jar with nine brightly colored stars next to his microscope during late April; a fourth after their return from a case in Manchester with exactly fifty-five stars all in varying shades of blue - Sherlock had nearly cost them their lives with his arrogant attitude, but John had still called him brilliant, nonetheless; a fifth jar containing ninety-nine stars had been tucked into the toe of the Persian slipper in the month of June; mid-July saw them off to the coast to bust up a smuggling ring in Dover that ended in yet another close call for Sherlock. After the final shot rang out, John had been so relieved to find him alive that he had thrown all caution to the wind, wrapping the detective in a tight embrace. The doctor had tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and pulled his head down to crash their lips together in a desperate kiss as he whispered quiet declarations of love against the detective’s skin. Back at Baker street two days later, Sherlock had found the sixth vial in the pocket of his Belstaff - this one contained exactly one-hundred and one. During the month of August, the seventh vial appeared next to the detective’s toothbrush in the bathroom - 365 stars all in red. 

\--

The eighth vial came directly after the most memorable night of their lives. John had insisted Sherlock allow him to take him out on a real date in an attempt to court the detective properly. The doctor had taken off early from work and planned the entire evening on his own. The evening began with dinner at Angelo’s - sentimental John at his very best; then, a concert at the Royal Festival Hall featuring the London Philharmonic Orchestra which had taken Sherlock by complete surprise, and they ended the night with a detour into Hyde Park where they walked hand-in-hand and reminisced about their favorite parts of the evening before returning to their home on Baker Street. 

As they opened the door to their flat and removed their coats, Sherlock had felt John press up against him from behind, his gentle hand coming to rest on the detective’s hip where his suit jacket curved against his body as the shorter man tilted his chin up to press lingering kisses against the nape of his neck. Sherlock had shuddered in response and turned his body to face his partner, taking in the intense desire in the doctor’s expression. John’s navy-blue eyes had been darker than normal, his pupils dilated to an extreme, and he had seemed to be having a difficult time keeping his eyes from roaming all over Sherlock’s entire body. As John’s tongue had darted out to lick at his bottom lip before pulling it in between his teeth, the detective felt a jolt straight through his groin and a soft moan had escaped his lips. 

John had taken this as an invitation to step closer and close the distance between them as he kissed Sherlock passionately and allowed his hands to slip under the detective’s expensive jacket, untucking his shirt in the process. The feel of John’s hands on the bare skin of his back sent Sherlock’s mind reeling as he gripped his partner’s arse through the fabric of his slacks. At the sudden intimate touch, John had let out a loud groan and ground his hips forward against the taller man’s thigh - his erection prominent as it brushed against the bulge in Sherlock’s own trousers. The contact had sent both men into a manic flurry of heated kisses as they nipped at each other’s lips and skin, grinding their hips into one another’s. 

Sherlock had broken the kiss first and found himself panting heavily, trying desperately to regain control of his body. John’s calloused fingers brushed the curls out of his face and pushed them back behind his ear as his hand settled on the detective’s cheek. 

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, stroking a thumb over his partner’s kiss-swollen bottom lip.

Sherlock’s eyes had closed, then, and he simply nodded his head slowly before he allowed himself to open his eyes again. “Yes, John… I think so…” he finally replied, his voice a low whisper. 

The doctor had smiled adoringly and peppered soft, close-lipped kisses over Sherlock’s cheeks as he hugged him close. “Would you allow me to take you to bed, Sherlock?” the question had caused his entire body to melt into John’s as it was whispered affectionately in the detective’s ear. 

Even as Sherlock recanted the memory of that night, his groin twitched at the thought of John’s lips against the sensitive skin of his ear as he had whispered his deepest desires. His flatmate had taken him by the hand, kissing him as he led him into his own bedroom just down the hall where they collapsed in a clumsy heap on the bed. John’s skin had felt amazing against his own and Sherlock had etched the entire experience of his first sexual encounter into his mind palace as a reminder of the love he had for John Watson.

As Sherlock had woken up the next morning, he had realised that, much to his disappointment, he had woken up alone. On the bedside table, the display on his phone had been lit up and a text from John letting him know that he had been called-in to the clinic for work at the last minute had reassured him that their first time had been quite a success. Placing the phone back on the bedside table, Sherlock’s eyes zeroed in on a slightly larger glass jar filled with more paper stars, this time all in white… five-hundred and twenty to be exact.

  
  


\--

The next vial came during the last days of October after their first “lover’s spat” if you will. Sherlock’s experiments had gotten completely out of hand, setting fire to the microwave and sending John into a raging fury. Once the flames were extinguished and heated words were exchanged, the doctor had stormed out of the flat in an angry huff that left Sherlock feeling empty and cold. 

In a very “un-Sherlock-like” manner, he had cleaned the kitchen from floor to ceiling while John had been out and had disposed of the hazardous materials left over from the experiment before climbing the stairs to curl up in the doctor’s bed. He had woken up the following morning with John’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, a ninth vial of stars in different shades of green tucked just under the corner of the pillow Sherlock had been resting on. This time, there were five-hundred and forty-eight.

\--

Three weeks later, the tenth vial had been set out next to Sherlock’s morning tea and a plate of toast with eggs. It had taken the detective several minutes to count out the nine-hundred and ninety-nine brightly colored stars, but it hadn’t bothered him at all. He had begun to look forward to finding the containers and, by now, he was certain he knew who had been leaving them behind for him to find. The only thing he hadn’t pieced together yet was why and what they were supposed to symbolise. 

Before he knew it, Sherlock had finished his breakfast and a text from Lestrade had taken his mind off of the stars, once again.

\--

Christmas Eve.

Snow was falling as Sherlock and John stood on the front steps of their flat, waving goodbye to their friends and family as they all went their separate ways after a pleasant evening spent enjoying each others company, eating a wonderful meal, and exchanging gifts. Sherlock’s attention was focused on the weight of John’s arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close to his side as the snow fell around them. Gentle snowflakes were collecting in his partner’s greying-blonde hair and he couldn’t resist the temptation to reach up a hand to ruffle John’s fringe affectionately.

The doctor laughed as he screwed up his face in a wince as the flurries cascaded over his cheeks. “What are you doing, you berk?” he asked, the words coming out between chuckles. He batted Sherlock’s hand away and laced his blunt fingers with the detective’s long ones, pressing a kiss to his partner’s knuckles. 

“Just clearing the snow out of your hair, “ Sherlock flashed the doctor an endearing smile and winked down at him.

John’s features settled in a warm smile and he rolled his eyes, playfully. “Come on, let’s get back upstairs. I haven’t given you your present, yet,”.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the statement as he allowed himself to be led back up to the sitting room of 221B. “Oh? I was under the impression that we weren’t switching gifts until tomorrow,” he stated, looking at his partner curiously. John was a hopeless-romantic and had always been an impatient gift-giver, always wanting to give the recipient their gifts as quickly as he had bought them.

The doctor motioned for Sherlock to have a seat in his chair as he rubbed a hand over the back of his own neck while a sheepish grin played at his lips. “Yeah, well… you got me there. But, I just can’t wait any longer. I’ve been dying to give it to you since the day I got it, “ John admitted as a deep blush crept up his neck and spread over his cheeks. He glanced down at the floor, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze, as he made his way over to their Christmas Tree. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his voice quiet yet excited, as he looked over his shoulder at the detective. The request intrigued Sherlock and heightened his interest, but he didn’t speak. He tilted his head and knit his eyebrows into a curious expression before doing just as his blogger had asked.

He heard the shuffle of John’s feet on the rug and, after a few moments, the doctor was kneeling in front of Sherlock’s chair with a hand on the detective’s knee. “Alright… you can open your eyes, now,”.

The younger man couldn’t hold back the silly smile that spread across his face before he opened his eyes to look down at John who was holding a beautifully wrapped box tied off in a bow with a shiny gold ribbon. The doctor was grinning wildly as Sherlock eyed the gift and he held it out for him to take. 

“Go on, open it. I’ve waited long enough,”.

Sherlock huffed out a chuckle and took the present from his partner, resting it on his thigh so he could untie the perfect bow. “You’re incorrigible,” he stated with an air of mock-scolding as he gave his partner an endearing look. It didn’t take him long to strip the box of its paper and he lifted the lid to look inside. 

The detective’s brow furrowed in slight confusion as he stared down into the box. Nestled protectively in a bright red fabric sat a larger jar filled with more brightly colored paper stars. He lifted the container gingerly and stared at it intently. As he studied it meticulously, John began to explain.

“There are exactly one-thousand, three hundred and fourteen paper stars in that jar,” he began, his voice just above a whisper. “Took me ages, that did,” he chuckled as Sherlock’s head snapped up in surprise.

“You - wait… you made these yourself?” he asked, dumbfounded. As John grinned at him, the detective found himself feeling a whole new appreciation for the time it must have taken for him to make each one by hand.

John’s grin widened and he looked down at the floor, “Yeah… One of my art teachers taught us to make them in primary school… there’s a little legend that goes along with them, too,”. The doctor waited until Sherlock looked up to meet his eyes, “You see, in Japanese folklore, there’s a story about a little girl who loved the stars so very much, and, one day, she went out to admire them only to realise that many of the stars had begun to fall straight out of the heavens in a shower of light. In a panic, she ran home to gather a large glass jar and some paper. She began to fold a paper star for each one she’d seen fall, but many more continued to fall. In a last attempt to save the night sky, she rallied up all the children in her village to help her fold thousands of paper stars to replace the ones that the sky had lost. In the end, the stars returned. The children deemed their paper stars to be ‘lucky stars’ believing that whenever a lucky star is made, a falling star is saved,”.

As John blinked slowly and licked his lips anxiously, Sherlock stared back in complete awe. “Fascinating…” he whispered, as the doctor bit down on his own lip as he smiled.

“It is… The stars have become an interesting part of Japanese culture, as well. For instance, the numbers and colors all mean something different,” John confirmed, sliding a box out from under the chair that was filled with each of the previous vials Sherlock had collected. “One star by itself is symbolic. It means “the only one”... I gave you this the night that I realised you were, in fact, my only one,”. 

The detective’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but before Sherlock could say anything in response, John continued on with his explanation as he indicated the second vial. “Two stars, represents a happy couple. I chose the red and the blue because red is supposed to mean ‘daring’ or ‘lucky’ and the blue is supposed to reference the ‘wild blue yonder’. Now, the third vial with the nine stars means ‘love for a long time’ and the fourth vial with fifty-five stars is the one I gave you after I stormed out that night. The green represents healing and the fifty-stars mean ‘I love you with no regrets’... and I do,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat and winking at his partner before he continued.

“The next vial I gave you contained ninety-nine stars. Those are a wish that the love lasts forever. And I can gladly say that my wish came true because after that, I was graced with being with you intimately for the first time. If you’ll remember that was when I gave you the jar containing one-hundred and one solid white stars. That, simply put, just means ‘I love you’ and the white symbolizes innocence. The jar with the five-hundred and forty-eight you received after that means ‘Can’t stop loving you’ and the nine-hundred and ninety-nine I gifted you with after that stands for ‘endless love’,” John finished with a smile as he took in the realisation dawning on the detective’s face. 

Sherlock’s mind was racing with the overload of such intimate information and he closed his eyes in an attempt to reign in his thoughts. “John… that’s amazing… you are amazing,” he breathed, letting emotion overtake him as he felt the sting of a tear burning in his eye. He fought back the urge to let himself be pulled under completely and pulled himself back just in time. He opened his eyes to look down at the jar in his hand one more time and realised that John hadn’t explained its meaning, yet.

He shifted his gaze to John’s loving face and then gestured to the jar he was holding. “And this one?” he asked, holding it up to analyse again.

The doctor laughed and placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee, once again. “That one… represents an eternal love for you,”. As the words left John’s lips, he glanced back down at the carpet and his expression became serious, causing the detective to look up in alarm. “Sherlock, when I met you, I was in a very dark place. I had lost all sense of who I was and what my purpose in life had been. I was broken and useless; there wasn’t anyone who could tell me different. Not Harry, not my therapist, not anyone. I had had enough of being John Watson… and that’s when you came along. You made life meaningful, again. You gave me a purpose and you gave me a life… You made being John Watson something worthwhile. And I will never be able to repay you for that… That legend says that when a lucky star is made, a falling star is saved, and, Sherlock Holmes, you are in fact my lucky star. You saved me from myself and kept me from falling… and that’s why this jar is the most important one of all,” John stated, his expression full of emotions that Sherlock couldn’t quite read. 

He leaned up, taking the jar from Sherlock’s hands and pulled the stopper out of the opening with a pop before he turned it upside down as the detective’s cupped his hands beneath it. The stars tumbled out in a shower of color and, after a moment, something heavier thudded against Sherlock’s palms. Shifting the object to one hand, he used his freehand to clear away the clutter of stars on top of it.

A solid, white-gold wedding band.

As the realisation of what he was holding set in, Sherlock’s eyes widened and he snapped his eyes up to seek out his John - his conductor of light, who was smiling up at him with a hopeful expression. “Look on the inside,” he prompted, gesturing toward the ring with his eyebrows.

Sherlock stared for what seemed like ages as he tried to will his mind to instruct his body to react. When he was finally able to register what he needed to do, he turned the ring over in his palm and read the inscription on the inside aloud: “ _ You are my lucky star _ ….”. The detective shook his head and closed his eyes, once again battling to keep his emotions in check. “John… I don’t know what to say… No one has ever -” he began, but John cut him off before he could finish.

“Just say yes… Forget everyone else…” the doctor pushed, raising up to cup Sherlock’s face in his hands and press his lips to the taller man’s cheek. The world was spinning faster than it ever had before and Sherlock was certain that if John let go, he would probably collapse. This was more than he ever could have expected from his blogger and the whole idea of it scared him just a bit. What would happen if John grew tired of his mood swings or had enough of his experiments ruining their appliances? Would he leave? Would all of these declarations go with him?

John pressed a soft kiss to the detective’s lips and his words were firm, but soft when he spoke, “Hey, uh uh, come on… no disappearing on me, right now. Don’t think about the what-ifs or the whys or the hows, ok? Just think about what you really want to say… yes or no? I promise, it really is that simple. And I won’t judge you for it if you tell me no… I’ll just try harder the next time around,”. The chuckle in his voice did the trick.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly. Reassurance… That was all that he had needed. 

“Yes, John…” the detective answered, testing out the words as he said them aloud, “Yes, I would very much like to accept your offer,”.

The smile that graced John’s features was bright enough to light up all of London as he dove in to kiss Sherlock with a fierce sense of pride and joy. The kiss lingered and pulled at something deep in the detective’s chest, but for once, Sherlock chose to live in the moment rather than focus on thoughts of the future. 

When John pulled back to look at him, his own smile mirrored the one his blogger wore. As he slipped the band on Sherlock’s finger, a warm sensation spread through the detective’s body. This was what it felt like to be happy, to have someone who loved you unconditionally and was willing to face whatever the world threw at you without a shadow of a doubt. 

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you didn’t turn me down…. I honestly didn’t know how I’d be able to top this,” he barked out a laugh and ducked to kiss his detective once more.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sarcastically as he smiled down at the ring, “How very droll of you, Dr. Watson… Very droll, indeed...”. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I lied! This isn’t a Ficlet, it’s a one-shot because I’m long winded and suck at ficlets lol BUT, I hope everyone enjoyed this! I adore the folktale of the Origami Lucky Stars so much that I knew I had to use it for the “Star” prompt! If anyone has any questions about other colors or numbers, feel free to ask in the comments! ;D


End file.
